


when all you wanted was to be wanted

by IsleofSolitude



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Fake Dating, Happy Ending, High School Reunion, M/M, Minor Angst, Queliot Week, minor biphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 13:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19252255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsleofSolitude/pseuds/IsleofSolitude
Summary: Queliot Week 2019 Prompt 1: Fake Dating/Marriage.Quentin gets an invite to his ten year class reunion. Being who he is, he panics.Eliot happens to know how to help his friend.





	when all you wanted was to be wanted

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. My tenses, like time, are wibbly wobbly. My bad.
> 
> 2\. Thanks to the Queliot discord for encouraging me to write this.
> 
> 3\. This takes place after a season three where there are no consequences except perhaps Julia losing her divinity. Magic is back, there's no monster, no library hunt, etc. 
> 
> 4\. Title taken from a T. swift song

It began, as most things do, with Quentin overthinking things.

The thing in question was a forwarded invite, that had originally been sent to his father’s and that his father had in turn put in a care package and sent to Brakebills. 

The overthinking came when Quentin, who had forgotten all about the package in between dealing with magical quests and Fillorian difficulties, finally saw it while resting in his own room in his own bed at the Cottage, so glad to have a day of nothing to look forward to. Opening the box revealed his latest lootcrate boxes (something he kept forgetting to cancel he really needed to check his bank account now), a new notebook, and the invite.

Curious, he struggled to open it neatly without a letter opener and ended up tearing it on one end. Quentin let himself skim it, then the words registered and he read it again in full, eyes and mouth opening in shock. Then he noticed the date of the event and cussed, running out of the room and down the stairs. 

“What day is it?” Almost slipping, he grabbed the railing and hung on, hoping there was someone in the living room. 

Todd had his hand on the door just about to head out, and he obligingly looked at his watch. “Saturday the 17th.” 

“Oh, shit. Fucking shit.” Quentin ran a hand through his hair, gesturing wordlessly with the other. “I have to...and then...and I have to find... Julia! I have to find Julia. Where’s Julia?” He hadn’t realized his voice was progressively getting faster and louder until he looked back at Todd, who had a deer in the headlights expression with his hand still on the doorknob and the door half open. 

Todd opened his mouth to answer--not that he would have the correct answer-- when Eliot swept in from the kitchen with a towel over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Todd, I’ve got this. Scurry along now.” Todd squeaked something out and made his escape, while Eliot sat on the couch and patted the space next to him. “You said something about Julia?”

Quentin walked over and plopped down next to him. “I have to find Julia. We need to, we have to, dammit.” 

“Q, honey, you have to breathe. What’s going on?” Eliot’s brow was starting to furrow in worry.

The only answer Quentin could give was to flutter the invite. Eliot held his hand out questioningly and when Quentin didn’t object, plucked it out of his fingers. He read it quickly and then his face smoothed out. 

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

“Eliot, seriously, what am I gonna do?”

“Gotta be honest, not really understanding why you are in crisis mode over this Q.”

Quentin shot up and began pacing. “What is there not to understand, El? This is for tonight. And I only  _ just  _ opened it! And I don’t even know where Julia is or if she knows about this or wants to go, and I have nothing to wear and how am I even going to get there and what am I going to say and---”

He was abruptly cut off by Eliot’s hands closing on his shoulders. When had Eliot stood up? Or gotten this close? 

“Breathe, Q. One thing at a time.” Quentin closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. “Good, there you go. Now, I can’t help but notice you don’t seem thrilled about going--”

Quentin muttered “You don’t say?”

“--So easy solution don’t go. Voila, probably solved. Now, time for drinks?”

He blinked at Eliot. “It’s...It’s only 10 in the morning, El.” changes tense here

Eliot shrugged, then seems to remember his hands on Q’s shoulders and removes them slowly. Quentin misses them the second they are gone, but they don’t get to do things like that anymore. “Time is fleeting and all that.” He hands the invitation back to Quentin, who takes it and tries not to overthink the way their fingers slide against each other.

“So I can...not go?”

“Did that not even occur to you?” Eliot has that tone in his voice, the bemused and overwhelming fond voice he only ever directs towards Quentin.

“I just…” He sinks back down onto the couch and stares at it. 

“Q?”

“It was something...we always talked about. Julia. It um, we would go and we would show people, and we would wipe the floor with them. We would purposefully call them by the same name and give them our best judgy looks and and. And my mom...she always spoke so highly of hers, and seemed happy each time she came back. And my dad, he still has friends, you know? He talks about it, sometimes. And he was so excited when…” Quentin sighs and meets Eliot’s concerned eyes. “ I think...I want to go.”

“Yeah?”

Quentin nods, resolutely. “Yeah. I do. Just not alone. I need to find Julia, remind her…”

Eliot nods. “Then we need a bunny.”

“But what if she can’t get there in time? I can’t go alone.” Quentin sinks back into the couch, lolling his head to look up at Eliot.

There’s a calculating glint in Eliot’s eyes as he tilts his head. “Who says you have to?” At Quentin’s inquisitive look, he taps one elegant finger against a line in the text.

 

**_“_ ** _ Quentin Coldwater and guest are cordially invited to the Class of ___ Reunion  _ **_”_ **

* * *

 

 

The reunion was being held in a hotel just down the road from the high school. It was all sophisticated modern--thick golden windows, blackish brown walls, gold and silver lights, deep brown wood polished til it shined

Quentin felt as uncomfortable walking into it as he had the first day back to school after the unfortunate Lunchroom Shenanigans™. Suffice to say, he hated it.

“I look ridiculous.” He hissed to Eliot as they approached the check in table, fiddling with his tie nervously. Eliot had thrown together a very respectable outfit for Quentin, which Eliot was very proud of considering he was working with Eliot’s, Todd’s, and Josh’s (Margo's) closets. (Quentin had asked why he wasn’t using Quentin’s closet and Eliot had laughed in his face before patting his cheek and getting back to work.)

“Stop that.” Eliot batted his hands away from his tie and fixed it. “Don’t be silly. That color absolutely suits you. You look…” The dark haired man slanted his eyes down and let a wicked smile curve onto his lips. “You look absolutely delectable.”

Quentin’s face lit on fire and he opened his mouth to respond only to realize they were at check in when a perky voice chimed in.

“Hello! Welcome back!” The girl had short, wavy brown hair and large hoop earrings. “Find your nametag and then sign in. There’s an open bar until 8:30, and a small buffet or you can start your own tab for something else. Have a lovely time!”

Quentin had no clue how the check in process was a blur but suddenly he was walking out of the hallway and into the lounge, a name tag that declared in loopy blue letters that he was “Quentn Coldwater” and Eliot’s shoulder bumping against his.

They had throwback music playing, and Eliot tilted his head appraisingly. “Hm...How quaint.” Quentin must have hummed or muttered something, because Eliot’s gaze on him was sympathetic. “Why don’t you go pick out a seat and I’ll get us some drinks?”

“Yeah, sure.” He didn’t want to separate but the thought of finding a dark corner to sit down and hide in was so appealing he conceded. Eliot patted his back encouragingly and walked off while Quentin slunk his way to the first table that fit his criteria: empty and as much away from the filled tables as he could get.

Sinking into a chair, he scrunched his shoulders and tried to be invisible as he looked for any familiar faces. They had gotten here just past the start time and not many people had begun filtering in, though he could hear increased chattering from the hallway each time the door opened. 

A glass of wine was set down in front of him and then Eliot gracefully dropped into the chair next to him with his own glass. “I for one think we should take full advantage of the bar before it becomes our responsibility. Open bar for only two hours? These classmates of yours sure are cheap.”

Quentin downed half the glass before he spoke. “At least this isn’t at the school gym. Now that would be cheap.”

Eliot shuddered. “Good point.” He tipped his wine glass against Quentin’s. “Cheers, graduate.” He sipped his glass and looked around. “Anyone you know yet?”

Quentin took a look around and nodded towards a woman at the bar. “That’s Lisbeth. We had math together almost every year. No word from Julia though.” His knee started to bounce as the room kept filling at a faster pace now. Lisbeth at the bar was laughing with someone and looking around and he felt her eyes on him and Eliot. He tried to smile, then used his wine glass to hide whatever his face had done. Lisbeth tilted her head.

A large, warm hand settled on his knee, fingers squeezing steadily. “Q, darling, you need to relax. The night is young and the music is old.”

That drew a startled laugh from Quentin, and he rolled his eyes. “You don’t approve of the music?” 

“Haven’t made up my mind yet.” Eliot sipped as he scanned the room. “Plus, it’s not like my high school didn’t have it’s anthems.”

Eliot never brought up his past if he could avoid it, and Quentin felt another surge of gratitude he was one of the few people that Eliot let through his walls. And that Eliot was there with him.

“What kind of anthems?” Even during their time at the mosaic Eliot’s comments on his school years were sparse.

The man hummed lightly. “Mostly country. Not even the somewhat interesting classics but the beginning of the bro country movement.” He shuddered, full body. “Nope, sorry Q, I refused to revisit that music a second longer.”

“Oh, c’mon. Inquiring minds want to know.” Quentin smiled, leaning in closer and bopping their shoulders.

“Appease your curiosity some other way.” There was a twinkle in his eyes and Quentin was looking forward to pestering him, but then his eyes slid to another direction and he held up the wine glass to his mouth to hide a whispered “oh, here comes Lisbeth.”

Quentin jerked upright and was glad he didn’t have a hand on his cup for fear of spilling it. Lisbeth was walking towards them, some greenish drink in her hand, and a bright smile on her face. Looking around it appeared people had begun making the rounds, going through the tables to exchange hugs and pleasantries and no had Lisbeth always walked this fast?

She stopped in front of Quentin and looked between them. “Hey, so glad to see you!”

Eliot put on his charming smile. “And you too, Lisbeth.” Lisbeth’s smile grew.

Quentin was just proud he didn’t put an um in his introduction.

“I just can’t believe it’s a decade already! It doesn’t feel like it at all, you know?”

He nodded awkwardly, fiddling with his wine glass. Eliot patted his knee. “Yeah, um, ten long years. Um, what have you been up to?”

She beamed. “I’m a paralegal. I love it, you know? It’s sometimes a drain because of the quotas but I am so lucky to be able to help out, and my coworkers are so great, you know?”

Quentin was nodding along with her as she continued, detailing her coworkers and projects and family life. Eliot, behind him, snorted behind his wine glass and Quentin shot him a warning glance to be nice.

“Oh, my, I went on for a bit didn’t I? So sorry. I just, really love it, you know? Anyways, how about you? I know you always loved English class, you were talking about teaching someday, did you? Mr. Galk was always annoyed whenever you corrected him. ”

Quentin opened his mouth, then closed it. He had never experienced Mr. Galk, the English teacher who kept a flask in his desk and read comics on the computer. Julia had him, but Quentin had separate classes. Looking at Lisbeth, he saw her looking expectantly, waiting for an answer from

Eliot.

Who was still smiling politely, not having realized what was going on, that Lisbeth…

Quentin cleared his throat and both eyes swung to him. “Actually, um, I never had Mr. Galk. We were in math together all years except senior...Um. Yeah.” He felt Eliot sit up straighter and could feel the comprehension dawning. He took a sip of his wine and found that it was empty. “Actually, um, Eliot um never actually went here.”

Lisbeth’s eyes shifted between him and Eliot, and their name tags. “Oh! I’m so sorry. Quentin, of course, I didn’t recognize you with the longer hair! How are you!” And then she gracefully gave him a polite hug and he was reminded of Julia’s ability to turn any situation pleasant and longed for her fiercely. He had used up his words ration and could feel the panic coming on.

Eliot’s voice was right in his ears as he slid forward. “Oh, Q here is quite well. He got accepted into the very prestigious Brakebills for their graduate program, and his thesis on, what was it?, Existentialism in Fairy Tales was the whole talk of the town.”

“Oh, that’s exciting!”

Quentin nodded. “Yeah, um, the Dean really said it was, um,”

“Just out of this world, right Q? Absolutely a portal to another realm...of thought.” Eliot’s voice was charming and soothing and absolutely teasing, and Quentin felt his shoulders relax as he rolled his eyes at the hidden jokes.

“Congratulations Quentin! That sounds so great.” Lisbeth smiles, sincerely, and Quentin is reminded of the reason he remembers her. Someone calls her name, and she turns and beams. “It’s been great, I’ll catch up with you later, okay?” She gives another hug and drifts off to another girl who squeals and catches her in a hug. 

There’s a huff of laughter behind him. “She’s something isn’t she?” He cocks an eyebrow at Quentin. “So she really thought I was the one who went to school with her?”

Quentin nods, staring at his glass. “Guess so. It happens, I guess. You just have one of those faces. Much more interesting than mine,  _ you know _ .” He tries to tease, but it comes out a little too sincere, and he grimaces. 

Eliot’s quiet. “She’s an idiot to forget about you.”

The tone of his voice sends something straight to Quentin’s stomach, and he twists towards Eliot, softens his voice. “I mean, I tried to keep my head down a lot. Sometimes I couldn’t, and those times were not often...times that made me cool. Or happy. Or like, were in general positive experiences.” He avoided Eliot’s eyes, but now he meets them. “Lisbeth, at least, was always kind enough to never bring those up when they happened. And she at least tried to stop some of the bullying when it happened, though I honestly am not sure if she completely understood.”

Eliot’s gaze is heavy on his, something turning behind his eyes, and Quentin feels---so much, meeting it. They haven’t...they haven’t had much time just them since magic was turned back on, since they snuck in and out of the castle at the end of the world and pissed off some of the most powerful magic users in the process. 

“I’m glad you’re here.” Quentin says, and Eliot’s gaze carefully stays on his face, even though his lips curl up. 

“Yeah?”

Quentin nods,then tilts his head and says playfully, “Because I need another drink after that.”

Eliot blinks,then throws his head back and laughs. “You little shit.” But he unfolds his body and takes their wine glasses and heads towards the bar, one hand sliding across Quentin’s shoulders as he goes.

That simple, casual touch makes Quentin close his eyes. It was a normal thing, after all. Eliot had been touchy feely for as long as Quentin had known him. He was like this with Margo and Fen as well. It was normal. But.

But.

Their normal had changed so much in the past few months. They had gone from best friends to life partners to married, then widowed, then snapped back to best friends. And when Quentin had tried, had put himself out there, Eliot had gently rejected him. And still they were touchy feely. But just best friends. Because...something.

So the touches were normal. To be expected. Something that was just something that happened.

Except, Quentin knew Eliot. And while Eliot was touchy feely with Margo, and Fen, and oddly enough Julia sometimes, there was a difference in the way Eliot had touched him before the Mosaic, and after the Mosaic, and after the rejection, and after the castle.

But Quentin didn’t know what it was. 

He opened his eyes and stretched, and then as usual when Eliot was in the vicinity, Quentin sought him out. And then froze mid stretch. Because Eliot was at the bar, waiting for their drinks. And chatting with a brown haired, green eyed man wearing a blazer and slacks.

A man who was comfortable showing off his forearms.

A man who had a way of flirting that included just barely touching when talking.

Like he was doing right now, with Eliot.

Like he did in the lunchroom for two years with Quentin.

Like he did at Quentin’s workplace, with some girl.

After standing Quentin up for a date.

Brent. Owen. Davis.

Liquid courage does not usually describe one glass of decent wine, so Quentin couldn’t blame that. Nor could he blame the fact that Lisbeth had brought forth both the absolute kindness that had gotten Quentin through some of his tough times and also the nagging fears during his tough times. Quentin couldn’t blame that either, should he want to blame anything.

Tucking his long hair behind his ear, he was halfway to the bar before he even realized he had stood up, and a moment later he was walking up to Eliot, who grinned in delight and started to say something but Quentin spoke first.

“Hey, babe, are the drinks ready yet?” And then he wraps an arm around Eliot’s slender waist and nuzzling into his shoulder, his blood and his heart tied for first place in their race. 

There was silence for a moment, and Quentin has just enough clarity of thought to realize just how awkward of a situation this could turn into before Eliot’s arm is around his shoulders and squeezing him tenderly. 

“Not yet, darling. Apparently there’s only a new bartender on duty, the other one is running late. Grant here was just tailing me about it.” Eliot’s voice is perfectly calm, and Quentin lets himself be supported as he uses all his adrenaline to turn to face the other man in their little scene.

The other man smiles tightly. “It’s Brent, actually.” Eliot makes an apologetic sound. Brent shifts his eyes to Quentin. “Hey, there, Q. Long time no see.”

If not for Eliot, Quentin thinks he would physically flinch. As it is, he manages to drum up a slightly appropriate smile. “Hey.”

Brent looks him up and down, and then his eyes pass from one to the other, and Quentin feels...awkward. Angry. Ashamed. He’s 16 again, smiling at the boy who teaches him to play pool. He’s 17 watching the couple kiss and ignore their food as he works the till and forcing himself not to react. He’s 17 and Brent is walking into the bathroom where he’s trying to change the bloody bandages on his wrist. He’s 27 and Brent looks at his wrists and at his date and judges him.

There’s a pause, and then Brent tilts his head. “So, Eliot here was telling me you guys came from New York?”

Quentin nods, tight lipped. He wants to speak, wants to say something, but he’s not sure what. Then Eliot runs his hands down his shoulders and he can practically hear the careful concern growing, so he tilts his head up and takes  a deep, focusing breathe. He looks back at Brent. “Yeah, New York. We go to grad school up there.”

Brent nods. “Sounds fun.” His eyes flicker to Eliot’s hand and then to Quentin, and then-- “So, I guess congrats is in order.”

“Pardon?” That was Eliot.

Brent gestures to Eliot’s left hand, where there’s a wedding ring. “That is an engagement ring, right? Quentin’s not the kind to date a married man, so…”

A part of Quentin wants to say that Brent has no right to assume that he knows the kind of person Quentin is, but the other part of him is slowly comprehending what he has done in his stupor.

Eliot, to his credit, glossed over it. “Thank you. We are very excited about--” Here he wriggled the fingers on his left hand, the hand on Quentin’s waist-- “This.” He puts his hand back on Quentin’s waist and squeezes again. The bartender comes with their drinks, finally, and Eliot passes one to Quentin and steers them away. “It was great meeting you, Brad. Ta.”

It takes Quentin about ten steps to start apologizing. 

“Fuck, shit, I’m so sorry Eliot I wasn’t thinking.”

Eliot keeps his hand tight on Quentin and sips his drink with the other. “Q, it’s fine. It’s not my first spontaneous engagement.”

“I just, I’m, fuck.” Quentin can’t think. Eliot tilts Quentin’s glass towards his lips.

“Breathe, then drink.”

Quentin does.

“Do you want to go sit down?”

Quentin shakes his head. “No. I don’t think I can right now…”

Eliot nods and guides them to a quiet corner. Quentin takes a small step away. Eliot’s hand holds him for a second and then drops down.

They drink for a moment, watching the room fill up. 

“Thank you.” Eliot looks at him questioningly. “For, just going with it.” He inclines his head to the bar. “I just…”

Understanding flashes in Eliot’s eyes. He drinks, then shrugs. “I know you, Q.” 

There’s a flush under his skin, and Quentin clenches and unclenches his jaw, his fingers. “Um, I don’t. That doesn’t make sense?” 

Eliot laughs and shifts closer, looking out among the people. “For you to act like that, speak like that, the guy had to be someone you wanted to make jealous or that you were angry at or that you hated. Doesn’t take a genius.” 

Quentin swallowed hard, mouth dry. “Oh, okay.”

“...Q?”

“Quentin Coldwater!” A slightly hunched over male came lumbering over, toothy grin taking up all of his face.

Despite his flight or freeze instinct, Quentin was proud of how short his pause was. “Hey, Bradley, wow, look at you.” He cringed at his words but the other man didn’t notice.

“Quentin, dude, wow! I can’t believe you’re here. Especially after everything in the lunchroom senior year. I mean, I’m glad you’re here, but dude! That was a mess. Jenny got suspended for like 3 weeks, remember?”

Before Bradley could lean in for a hug, Eliot had smoothly draped an arm over Quentin’s shoulder and stuck his other hand out. “Hi, I’m Eliot.”

“Sup dude?” Bradley clearly didn’t know what a handshake was, as he performed some rough and elaborate high five ritual with him.

Quentin risked a look up at Eliot’s face before he had to look away, biting his tongue so hard he was afraid of blood. Bleeding was better than bursting out laughing at this point.

“Hm.” Eliot withdrew his hand. 

“I don’t recognize you, sorry.” Bradley shrugged, all shoulders and neck.

If there was a prize for restraint, Eliot would win it for this interaction alone, Quentin was sure.

“No, Eliot, he um, he’s here with me.”

At the same moment, Eliot said “I’m Quentin’s fiancee.”

The thrill that ran up Quentin’s spine, the sharp inhale he took, the way he wanted to spin around and push Eliot against the wall---Quentin was determined to ignore that, just like he was going to block out the fact that Eliot had said that. It was the only way to move forward.

Bradley didn’t seem to even register it, already looking around. “Anyways, Quentin, definitely glad you came. Is Julia here?”

“No, I mean, not yet at least? I don’t know if she’s able to come.”

Bradley sighed. “Hope she does. She still hot as hell?”

There was a quiet “okay no” behind Quentin’s ear, and he shivered with the exhale. Quentin offered a weak smile, then Eliot was making their escape. “Our glasses are empty, darling, allow me…” 

They maneuvered through the room, Quentin grabbing more drinks for them and finding a new table while Eliot went to check out the buffet. He flounced over a few minutes later with a disgruntled expression and hissed out insults about how cheap the hosts were, scooting his chair closer to Quentins to share the single plate of offerings he found acceptable, and Quentin grinned fully for the first time since this morning.

It turned into a pattern, then. People would drift over, give Quentin a high five or a handshake or a hug, chat with him for a minute or two, then get distracted by someone else and wander off. Quentin didn’t even have to speak much, between Eliot’s social skills and his former classmates’ desires to share their successes. Eliot and him took turns getting rounds of drinks, and in between random visits would chat like normal--Eliot sharing biting critiques or genuine compliments (rarely) on the gathering and Quentin trying so hard not to laugh and draw attention to it, but chiming in with his own observations which would make Eliot’s face do that thing where he was all delighted and surprised. 

Apparently it was past the open bar time when it was time for the talking part of the evening. A few people had drifted to share their table, but there were a few seats between them so Quentin didn’t care too much. He didn’t even care that there was someone picking up a microphone and that a screen had been lowered and there was a powerpoint with what was probably yearbook shit. He was feeling a nice buzz, and while the food hadn’t been anything to write home about it was free, and despite the fact that he was in a magical grad school, he was still a grad student and free was free.

Better yet, his chair and Eliot’s chair were touching, and Quentin was comfortably slumped against him, resting in the juncture between his arm and torso, and Eliot’s fingers were gently stroking his hair over and over as the night wore on. 

“This is so tacky.” Eliot was whispering. “If anyone wants to see this shit they can look in their yearbooks.”

“What about if they don’t have their yearbooks?” Quentin muttered, lolling his head up to take in Eliot’s long lashes, the angle of his chin, the curve of his ear. He really wanted to just nudge his head over the slightest bit and open his mouth and--nope. Down boy.

Eliot smirked. “Quentin, only the people who want to see this shit still have their yearbooks. Otherwise, purchased or not, they don’t hang on to it for a decade.”

A thought occurred to Quentin. He shifted to see more of Eliot’s face. “Do you still have your yearbooks?”

Eliot looked down at him with his totally unfair sinful eyes, and smirking lips. “What do you think?”

Quentin was finding it hard to think, honestly. He realized that he was just staring at this point, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. At least until he realized that Eliot was staring too, steadfastly staring at Quentin’s lips.

Oh.

“I think...Maybe we should head out.” Quentin sat up carefully. He wanted to blame alcohol, or  stress, for the yearning in his voice but he can’t lie to himself. It’s just how he is, now that he’s known some and then all and now none of Eliot.

Eliot’s eyes flash, and his jaw works, and he nods. Takes a deep breath. They stand and head to the door, ignoring the laughter over whatever transition is on the screen. Their bodies are close, but they don’t touch, and Quentin isn’t sure if it’s deliberate or not. They exit into the hallway and Quentin feels a weight off his back as the door closes behind them.

“Hey, wait, I have to go to the restroom.” 

Eliot nods, shoves his hands in his pocket. “I’ll meet you outside.”

Separating from Eliot now doesn’t feel like the world is caving in, so he nods and they head in opposite directions. Quentin does his business but as he watches his hands, steadily ignoring the mirror like usual, he hears the door open and someone walk in.

“Wow, Coldwater, it’s been a decade and you just can’t stop, can you?”

Brent. Owen. Davis.

The bathroom suddenly feels too small, too angled like it’s the Library with its altered perspective, and Quentin struggles for control as he turns the water off. Everything in him says not to engage, but…

“Stop what, Brent?” And oh, he hated that he said his name again.

There’s a sneer. “Still playing queer. Thought you were utterly devoted to your bitchy best friend, and now you’re engaged to some flamboyant gay man?”

Quentin draws himself up, falls back on the only rebuttal he can. “A gay man you were flirting with.”

Brent snarls. “I wasn't flirting. I’m not confused anymore.”

And suddenly, Quentin feels his feet underneath him, feels the air go normal again as all the tension leaves his body. It’s been a decade, more than a decade, and this fight is just...so stupid.

“Bisexuality is a thing that exists, you know.” And he shoulders past Brent, done with that part of his life and he feels…

Sad, mainly. 

Because it’s been over a decade since Brent rejected him, since Brent forced himself to ignore the part of him that liked boys, but it’s only been a few months since Eliot rejected Quentin for having a part that liked girls, and apparently Quentin has yet to properly process either of them.

The night air is cool on his face, even in summer, and he searches out his date. Eliot is leaning against a column, hands crossed and face turned up to look at the moon.

He’s so beautiful it makes Quentin’s heart hurt.

Eliot looks over and starts to smile, but there must be something about Quentin’s face because Eliot is getting that concerned, protective hooded look on his face. It takes about three of his long strides to get close. 

“Q? What’s wrong?”

And Quentin just…

He turns and walks down the street.

Eliot keeps up, of course--Quentin isn’t planning on going far, but he doesn’t want to look at anyone right now, and Eliot blessedly keeps quiet though he hovers. 

The high school is near the elementary school, and Quentin pushes through the hedges and stumbles his way to a swing set, sitting down as though his legs gave out.

Maybe they did.

There’s a little light from the streetlights, and it’s just shy--or just past--a full moon, but the night is quiet and perfect for breathing. He swings his legs idly, taking peace in the familiar back and forth. He can feel Eliot just out of view. He loses track of the minutes.

Eliot’s long fingers wrap around one of the chains, slowing him down. “Q?”

Quentin closes his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“It’d be a lot easier to accept that apology if I knew what you were sorry for, darling.”

He can’t help it, he twitches. “Please, don’t.” They are quiet for another moment, and then he looks at Eliot, so beautiful and so kind and so untouchable in all the ways that matter most. He looks at his feet. “It’s for...being so pathetic and dragging you into that.”

“Pathetic? What?”

The swing is still now, so Quentin lets go and wraps his arms around himself. “Eliot, I literally went to my high school reunion and had to fucking make up stories about my life in order to not be some--some--some loser! I had to make you my fiancee in order to like, face the people there. Who does that?” He lets out a bitter laugh, and he knows Eliot flinches at that. “Even if it hadn’t been you who came, it would have been Julia, would have been a decade ago and I’m still just a waste when it comes to social shit.”

“Quentin…”

“Eliot, Lisbeth didn’t even know who I was at first! She thought you were the one who had class with her. And they misspelled my name!” He jabs at his nametag, and drops his head in his hands. “It doesn’t matter that I---have magic and have another world to go to or that like, any of that, I'm still just Quentin Coldwater, stutterer extraordinaire.” 

Strong, lean fingers tangle with his. Eliot is kneeling in front of him, so close that Quentin’s hair is brushing along his neck. “Quentin, no honey. No. That’s not who you are.” He takes a deep breath, leans his forward against Quentin’s. “You have to tell lies. They aren’t magicians, they can’t understand how absolutely wonderful you are. They just don’t...they don’t have a brain big enough to understand. They’re morons, all of them, and you just...don’t do this to yourself, please.”

Quentin lets them breathe together, in and out, for one sweet moment, and then he tilts his head back, puts just enough distance that he can see Eliot’s eyes. 

“I’m bisexual, Eliot. And in high school, Brent and I had..something. A lot of something. But he...his parents were so religious, and he didn’t know he hated that part of me, and that part of him, until he was able to hurt me with it.” Eliot’s fingers tighten on his. “And Eliot, you rejected me for liking women. I’m not enough for anyone.”  And that’s the awful truth of it, isn’t it. He hears Eliot make a hurt sound, but he just sighs and closes his eyes. 

Only to open them when he’s yanked off the swing and into a lap, with his head in Eliot’s shoulders and Eliot’s long arms around him, Eliot’s hands tugging and stroking his hair and his head and his shoulders.

And rocking him. And whispering urgently into his ear, his lips grazing with each word, and a wet dampness sliding from his cheek to Quentin’s.

“Fuck, Q, I’m so fucking sorry. I fucking lied, okay? I was scared and I lied. I love you, I’m in love with you, whatever fucking tense or conjugate or variation makes you believe it, that’s what I feel. You’re more than enough, you’re fucking everything Quentin, you…” He chokes off. “Quentin, love, I’m sorry.” 

And Quentin feels that awful numbness draining away, feels himself curling into Eliot, grasping Eliot’s lapels and letting Eliot’s voice wash over him. It’s too much and not enough. 

They stay there until the cool summer heat turns to chilly night, and then this is what they do: They stand. Eliot brushes off the dirt and Quentin straightens Eliot’s shirt. They walk, arm in arm, to the portal, and when they get back to Brakebills, Eliot pulls Quentin into his room, into his bed, and holds him until Quentin feels safe again. In the morning, they will talk and they will fight and then Eliot will be brave and kiss him until they sink to the ground again, and then they will work on healing and loving and being happy.

* * *

  
  


Years later, Quentin will run into some of his college friends and introduce Eliot as his ex-fiancee.

 

Eliot will roll his eyes and say, “Actually, I’m him husband. He just thinks he’s hilarious.”

**Author's Note:**

> Some of these events actually happened to me. Hope you enjoyed, and sorry for stretching the fake dating trope. =)


End file.
